China

Like a typical morning when I’m at home, Dad would prepare the breakfast early in the morning. I walked down the stairs, with sky blue long sleeves sweater and pale-blue-green pants on my body.

“Breakfast is ready.” Said my Dad.

As usual, on top of the newspaper-covered dining table, I see little dishes of minced Chinese preserved turnip, spicy pickled bamboo shoots, shibazuke, sweet bean curd, dried pork, fried eggs and two bowls of congee (boiled rice gruel).

While I was in the Kitchen, pouring myself a cup of warm water, I heard Dad’s voice coming from the dining room.

“Do you want sesame balls for desert?”

I reminded my Dad that we shouldn’t eat too much, because I will take him out to lunch later in the day.

“That’s right.”

I walk into the dining room and sat down on the chair.

“I over-cooked the eggs a little, see if you like it crispy on the edge.” Said Dad.

I picked up my pair of chopsticks and reached for the fried eggs.

He insert a spoon full of congee mixed with some turnips into his mouth.

Since I was sitting right in front of the cabinet, I cannot not noticed the new items added to the collection.

“Where did that Fan came from?” I asked.

“From my Uncle. He gave it to me when I was visiting Shanghai.” He said.

“Looks pretty.”

“Of course. It was one of the items that were taken by the government during The Chinese Cultural Revolution. The government finally released these items recently.”

“Nice.”

“I also found those China in the garage.”


China, chi·na
n.
1. High-quality porcelain or ceramic ware, originally made in China.
2. Porcelain or earthenware used for the table.


I looked at the direction of where he was facing.

8 blue and white patterned plates sat on the lower section of the display cabinet. Each one of them has the design of a blue dragon, chasing a fire ball. 4 big dinner plates, 2 salad-size plates, and 2 tiny sauce saucer.

“Your Grandma gave them to your mom. And She got them from her Grandma. These China plates are antiques. I’m sure they worthy a lot of money now… There may be some amazing history behind these fine china.” Said my Dad, while eyeing the cabinet.

“Oh, really.” I replied after I shovel a piece of bean curd though my lips.

“How come we only have 8 plates? I thought there were more…” Dad seemed puzzled.

Having the bean curd in my mouth, a giant flashback cluster swirled in front of my eyes.

Like viewing a magic mirror, I saw a 10 years Wayne pouring the watercolor mix on one of the blue small saucers and used it as a palette. Then there came Mom, pouring pan fried noodles onto the big blue plate and placed it on the dining table. Wayne said “Noodle!” My sister, on the other hand, took out the broken medium-size plate (watercolor palette) out of her backpack, and tossed them into the trash can. Wayne, walked in to the kitchen and picked up a big blue plate and asked Mom, “Is this it?” Mom nodded her head. Then Wayne walked to her and handed her the plate. Mom took it from Wayne’s hand and placed it under a small pot of Orchid. “Perfect.” She said. My sister yelled “Damn it!” as she opened the oven. “The plate snapped in half while I was baking the sweet potatoes.” Then Mom said, “Yeah. These plates are useless. Just the other day, I accidentally left one on top of the stove, and it also snapped in half. These has heat-tolerance at all.” All of the sudden, my dog accidentally stepped onto a blue saucer and made it jumped off the kitchen counter. The saucer shattered instantly.

The sweetness of the bean curd traveled from the center of my tongue up to my brain, and added a strange sense of awkwardness to my visions of the missing plates.

I tossed the bitter-sweet History of the 4 missing China behind my head, and turned my head to him.

“That’s weird. Mom only took 8 of them back.”

My Dad blinked his eyes.

“Probably my mistake. The complete set has 8 plates.”

“Sure.” I looked back down at my bowl of congee…